The Meaning of Bones
by wayward-river
Summary: Byakuya/Yoruichi - In this play of theirs, he is the angel, and she is the demon; he always falls, but willingly so.


"Man is an animal that makes bargains; no other animal does this – no dog exchanges bones with another." – Adam Smith

* * *

><p>His answers never satisfy her.<p>

She watches him pour another cup of tea, all practiced, noble grace. She can't pour it without spilling it, somehow, no matter how steady her hand. She finds this grace of him frustrating, because he can do it without thought or practice.

Byakuya may be better at pouring tea, but Yoruichi is an excellent liar.

"I thought you might like Darjeeling tea," he says, looking at her from across the low table, "I ordered it from the human world a few days ago. Rukia has taken a liking to it."

Yoruichi peers down into her cup; the color matches her eyes, its fragrance light and sweet. The cup feels warm against her hands, but there is a coldness which lingers in her bones, without reason. They sit in a room near the Kuchiki gardens, and he has placed a few peony blossoms upon the table at which they sit.

"It's not like you to decorate," she says, quietly.

He looks outside. She watches the sunlight in his hair, let down from the ornaments, eyes roaming the bareness of his throat.

Their earlier words hang between them, her unanswered questions, the lies he couldn't say aloud, but confessed to her through his eyes.

The spring air is warm, comforting. Everything else lies.

The flowers and the tea lie to them, a farce to tell the outside world that they're two people having pleasant conversation. Lies.

His violet-gray eyes lie to her the most. Byakuya tries to hide it, but Yoruichi is a cat at heart, and she can see things others cannot.

He denies any feeling other than grief, and this is when his lies are the strongest.

His answers never satisfy her.

* * *

><p>"<em>I'll make you a deal," she says, dipping her face very near his own.<em>

_Byakuya runs a few fingers through her violet hair. It falls all around them in the moonlight. Her skin shivers._

"_I don't make bargains," he answers._

_Yoruichi smiles, knowingly. Her fingertips press against his mouth._

"_But you will for me, Byakuya. You always have."_

* * *

><p>Yoruichi lifts a single peony from the table, holding it before her face. The gold of her eyes and the pinkness of the petals are like the sunset in winter.<p>

Yoruichi begins plucking the petals off, one by one.

Byakuya watches this in silence, liking the way her dark skin looks against the petals, and wonders, briefly, how she would look swathed in a kimono of the same hue. His eyes follow the movement of her slim fingers, as they slowly draw each petal away from the body, before dropping it, carelessly, onto the table.

The petals begin to pile up, much like a mass grave before them.

She watches him watch her.

* * *

><p>"<em>I don't make deals with devils," Byakuya says, a grin in his voice.<em>

_His skin is very pale in the moonlight, like driven snow. Yoruichi thinks it very fitting._

_In this play of theirs, he is the angel, and she is the demon; he always falls, but willingly so._

_Yoruichi laughs softly. She throws her hair over one shoulder, running her hand down his chest, past scars and the slope of his stomach. It's his turn to shiver, now._

_Their breathing mingles._

* * *

><p>"You haven't said much since I came here. Did you summon me just to watch me mutilate flowers, Byakuya?"<p>

Her question is a challenge. He takes it.

"Perhaps I did."

She doesn't smile; it's more of a half-cocked grin, which crinkles her cheek as she does. It tells him things no book in the world could express.

He lies with his eyes, she with her smile.

Yoruichi leans over the table, hands buried in the pile of peony petals. Her bound hair dips along the small of her back, a few wayward strands falling across her eyes. Byakuya rests a few fingers against her nape, his thumb pressing into her throat.

She kisses the hallelujah from his lips.

* * *

><p>They lay together in the moonlight.<p>

Sometimes, their roles reverse, and he becomes the demon beckoning her into Hell, and the brands he leaves on her flesh remain for days after. Yoruichi doesn't mind them.

He kisses her neck to rouse her from half-sleep.

She turns in his arms, fingernails scraping into his hair. His eyes are the color of wet marble, cut fresh from the earth. Her hands fall along his back, trying to find his absent wings. The sound he makes is close to a laugh, but not quite there. She hasn't heard him laugh in over one-hundred years.

"I need to go," she says, pressing her forehead against his own.

He frowns.

"You could stay."

Her smile is unapologetic. "I know. But I can't."

She leaves the warmth of the bed, binding her hair up and away from her neck. He walks his fingers down the length of her spine, half expecting a tail to sprout at its base. When she glances down at him, she looks more like a demon than he ever could; a beautiful succubus, ready to steal his soul.

He isn't sure he even has one, anymore.

She takes his hand to kiss the knuckles, rising, a robe thrown loosely over her shoulders. She stands in his doorway, blocking the moonlight.

Byakuya sits up, offering one hand out to her, though he knows she won't take it.

Yoruichi smiles.

"Sorry, Byakuya. I don't bargain with devils."


End file.
